


your body is a weapon

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Lowercase, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bianca spends the summer in castelia city. (canon divergence, time skip.) for ruthie, happy birthday!</p>
            </blockquote>





	your body is a weapon

**Author's Note:**

> okkkkk sooooooo
> 
> i wrote this for my dear ruthie! (theta-knight on tumblr, theycallmeruthless on ff, idr if she has an ao3 orz)  
> congrats on another year of life, my shining star! i hope the next one's even better! what is this fic about??? idk man it's pretty, and that's what matters. o7

** your body is a weapon **

.

.

( _Sometimes I like to go uptown_

_Where flashy people flash around_  
 _It's extortionate and I don't care_  
 _You can taste the pretence in the air._ )

.

.

bianca really, really envies elesa. 

she is pretty and thin and _drowns_ in dresses. her scarves were the color of envy and sin, her jewelry was ambrosia, everything she touches turned into the most beautiful of gilded gold. 

in comparison, bianca was a faded painting hanging in a demanding father’s foyer. she taps her fingertips against her hip, her hips are too wide, too wide for the skirt elesa was wearing and flaunting and spinning about in, electricity and live wire, sparkling. the shorter blonde, the blonde with a forced grin and a prominent overbite, she pushes back a sigh, and gives elesa another bright look. 

something, anything, it’s the thought that counts. elesa pouts and primps in front of the vanity like she owns the place, she doesn’t, it belongs to an old boyfriend, or something. elesa’s here for the summer, bianca is too, because they’re going out for tea and for casteliacones and for whatever else, bianca, honestly, she doesn't care. she really wanted to be out of the house, and staying at her cousin/maybe not cousin’s, seemed like the best idea to act upon this summer.

summer. god. three months with the most beautiful girl in unova, that was going to go well. 

elesa makes a face, and bianca wonders, who she’s looking at past the chrome finished glass and the dented brass frame. her sharp jaw is set, and her lips are pursed, and the lipstick she’s applying, it’s the color of hate.

“what are you looking at?” bianca asks, finally, tugging at the hem of her dress, still too short, her father would have a _heart_ attack if he saw her. the pale green sundress ended above her knobby knee caps. _scandalous_. elesa let her borrow some stockings from her trunk, an ancient thing, at the foot of her bed. she said it was, with a dull monotone, to keep bianca from fretting.

“i’m looking at you.” elesa responds. her gaze flickers from the vanity to her younger companion’s face, round and chubby and bianca _hated_ her face, it was nothing to look at when you had—

“cut your hair short.” 

bianca’s hand reaches for her hair, the color of wheat and daffodil. it reaches her shoulders, and nothing else. 

“okay.”

the summer heat wanes, the sun waxes red, and elesa fishes for a pair of silver shears from her borrowed desk.

.

.

.

burgh is upset, he clicks his tongue, and works magic to the mess elesa made, because elesa isn’t capable of building, she’s only capable of destruction of the purest kind, burgh is upset because he loves bianca’s hair, still does even after it no longer curls in on itself or bounces or anything—

“thank you so much, oh my god, i wouldn’t know what to do if i had to walk outside like this!” bianca admits, in her soft, frenzied soprano, burgh smiles, ever angelic and kind, sweet burgh and his mahogany waves and green gaze, bianca thought he was too good for elesa, who was beautiful and wonderful in her own right, because god, bless the ground burgh walked upon.

“elesa didn’t do that bad of job,” always defending her, that was burgh’s modus operandi. “she just needed to angle it a bit more. see, it frames your face now. you look lovely, bianca.” 

bianca giggles. “you say that to everyone.”

burgh taps her button nose with a ringed index finger. “only to the pretty ones.” 

he straightens his back, stands at his full height, he towers over the sitting blonde, her hands on her lap, eyes fixated on the reflection in the vanity mirror. her hair, it’s a bob now, sharp and daring, and bianca can’t recognize the girl in the mirror. she knows that’s her, yes, but, the puffy-sleeved blouse and the green vest, the ankle length skirt, none of that fit on this new girl. kohl and shadow litter the desktop, burgh sighs in elesa’s general direction, the model is lounging on his unmade bed, long legs outstretched, a cigarette holder dangling on the edge of polished fingertips. she puffs out little, tiny smoke circles. 

“no smoking with the window closed, for god’s sake…what the hell am i supposed to do with you?” he says, opening the window in question, a fragile little thing.  

bianca thought a lot of things in life were little, tiny things. they could break with a push.

“fuck!” 

elesa gives burgh an almost sorrowful glance.  

“that window had it coming.” she sing songs. the man scowls, mahogany waves tumble over his narrowed gaze. 

.

.

.

on the fifth day, they finally leave burgh’s apartment. they’re dressed to the nines, they’re going to a party, and bianca’s never seen castelia city so…

_so_ …

the word escapes her. there’s something unnatural about the lights and the noise, about the people crawling out of their holes, moths to flame, they’re all headed to cruise dock, where the royal unova opens it doors, for one night (and one night only!) to the general public. a grand ball. 

elesa is beautiful, in her tiny black dress, she links her arm with burgh’s, he’s wearing a suit that would put nimbasa’s up and coming young socialites to shame. the all black ensemble doesn’t fit quite right, bianca thinks, but he’s got an emerald tie and a beautiful top hat, and maybe, that’s what makes him special. his dedication to the persona he has so elegantly crafted, bianca wishes, she really really does, in her gossamer gown, that she had that kind of resolve. 

she takes another breath, after the bouncer clears their party, and they sashay past the velvet ropes. elesa gives her hand a squeeze, and then spot checks her dress. the gown is beautiful, the color of the universe, it clings to her chest, a sleeveless bodice encrusted with crystal and glass, a full skirt with layers and layers of taffeta and tulle, bianca is absolutely terrified of this dress. it’s too much, it’s too much for her, she looks—

“whoah, bianca!” 

burgh taps her freckled shoulder, and turns her toward the source of surprise. bianca puts her hands on her face, oh god, oh _jeez—_

“blair!” she squeaks. the brown-haired boy gives her a warm smile, and jabs his slack-jawed companion in the ribs. cheren takes the moment to compose himself, pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, yes, of course. always in control.

“you look incredible, doesn’t she look incredible cheren? goodness, if you’re going to stand there like the village idiot, be my guest, because i think—” cheren cuts blair off with a frazzled noise of discontent, no one can really decipher what the third member of their childhood friend trio has to say, but the blush that settles on his cheeks is enough for bianca, she can breathe now. the commotion in the main room comes back in staccato bursts, first the strings, then the dancing, and finally the bubbling champagne passed around by waiters in white tuxedos. 

bianca and blair embrace, she squeezes him tight, and he presses a kiss against her cheeks. 

“it’s been too long. how’s whitlea?”

blair winks. 

“she’ll be here soon, i should, probably go make sure she’s okay though.” 

the boy disappears after giving them a salute, elesa mocks him with a salute of her own, but her eyes are brighter than the sea, bianca’s never seen them so alive. she’s glad. burgh whisks elesa away, after telling bianca to have fun and to stay safe, and giving cheren a curt glance. they meet with a red-haired girl, who jumps into elesa’s arms and covers her in kisses.

the shyness that bianca was so desperately fighting, it comes back when cheren refuses to meet her stare, but offers his gloved hand. she takes it, carefully, but likes the way his fingers fit with hers. 

“it’s been too long,” he echoes. “i like your hair.” 

bianca smiles.

“welcome, one and all, to the castelia city gala! i’m so glad to see you all here tonight!” the announcer takes the stage, the second floor balcony rises above them, decorated in the finest bronze tapestries and ivory garlands. 

“tonight, we have a very special guest, the champion of the unova region, miss—”

a loud yawn permeates the speakers, and cheren’s expression goes from cute, awkward kid to the picture of absolute despair, bianca tries her best not to titter at his expense, and gives his hand a squeeze.

“sorry i’m late, got kind of caught up, in some other things.” 

blair’s hand was in hers, of course, no one expected anything else from the trophy couple that brought unova to its knees. they were terribly good looking, of course. but whitlea, whitlea white. 

white, she wore men’s pajamas. 

to the most important event of the year.

“hello, dear.” 

the greeting is directed to her, and her only, bianca knows this.

“hi, white.” 

cheren asks her why she just said hello to the person standing a good thirty five feet away.

bianca flicks his forehead, and asks him to dance with her. 

.

.

.

the city is ugly, she likes the nuvema town air so much better, but bianca will admit that the summer she spent underneath the hazy sky was the best. she ushers in her eighteenth year with cheren’s lips against hers, and blair’s fingers in her hair, and lovely white, she makes sure to leave her neck black and blue. 

she doesn’t think she’s had a better birthday. 

.

.

.

“it’s a shame you’re leaving.” elesa sighs, holding a handkerchief to her lips in a practiced way. burgh opens the door to the taxi that’s to take bianca back home, and bianca, with her cropped hair and bruised skin and pretty eyes, she laughs. her smile is bright enough to light up the city, it’s genuine and beautiful, and onlookers can’t stop staring. she doesn’t mind the stares anymore, she thinks. maybe a little. it’ll take a little more time, a tiny bit more. maybe a couple more excursions into the unknown. 

as long as she had elesa and burgh to lead the way, bianca thinks she’ll be fine. they give her another round of hugs while her phone vibrates, message after message pouring in, she’ll answer her entourage on the ride home. 

“thank you.” 

elesa smiles for the first time all summer.

“no worries.” 

bianca used to envy elesa. elesa with her new black hair, and new yellow dress, elesa who still drowns in her seven deadly scarves. 

but now, she doesn’t. 

maybe it’s a different emotion, something electric. she won’t be around to find out. 

bianca waves from the backseat of the car, and waves and waves until they’re only figures in the city heat. 


End file.
